


Many Receive Advice, But Only the Wise Profit From It

by Philosoferre



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Advice Columnists, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7613845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosoferre/pseuds/Philosoferre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what anyone (read: Courfeyrac) said, he was not in love. Especially not with Grantaire, of all people.</p>
<p>He was stupid and brash and opinionated and…well, yes, attractive, but he certainly wasn’t Enjolras’ type.</p>
<p>Enjolras’ type was…well, whatever it was, it was not Grantaire.</p>
<p>He wasn’t in love.</p>
<p>_</p>
<p>Enjolras and Grantaire are rival advice columnists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Many Receive Advice, But Only the Wise Profit From It

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my documents for a good few months now, and I just finished it today so yay for productivity and progress! All of my knowledge about advice columnists comes from Charmed, by the way. To my dearest Mirela, the E to my R, and my darling sister. Enjoy!

_Ask Enjolras._ _Dear R._

Enjolras stared at the two columns, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. He had to find out what made his rival’s advice column more appealing than his- was it his writing style?

 

Well, no, it wasn’t that.

 

Enjolras had read several of his columns (obsessively, as Courfeyrac had put it), and his writing style wasn’t exceptionally appealing. He spoke the truth, was to-the-point, and rather opinionated about certain subjects, but it’s not like he had charm. If anything, he was the complete opposite of charming. He used too many quotes and literary references and put so much of his own cynicism into his advice that some of his pieces seemed more like persuasive essays.

 

To put it shortly, Enjolras wasn’t a big fan of his writing style.

 

So maybe it was the newspaper?

 

Well, that was out of the question, too, because _The Script_ wasn’t as popular as _The Journal_ (which was one of the main reasons Enjolras had chosen to work for the latter). But, then again, _The Script_ was well-known, famous even, for their advice columnist, while _The Journal_ was more well-known for their incredibly opinionated articles on politics. At least, _The Script_ used to have the most famous advice columnist- now, he was neck-in-neck with Enjolras.

 

So the newspaper itself was out of the question.

 

Maybe it was the actual advice?

 

That couldn’t be, either. Enjolras took his job seriously, and gave professional, real advice, not anything like ‘sleep it off and think about it more once you’ve had some coffee’ (which R had written in several of his pieces). He also didn’t tell people to ‘go all Frodo Baggins on him’ (so what if he’d laughed when he’d read the ‘if your husband is cheating on you, burn the wedding ring in the fires of Mordor’ part of the column?), or end a piece with ‘may the odds be ever in your favour’ (seriously, he was giving people advice, not condemning them to televised fight-to-the-death-style games). He gave people advice that would actually help them, not half a page of gratuitous literary references signed off with a swirly ‘R’.

 

The only option left was the title of his column.

 

Now that he thought of it, ‘Dear R’ was way catchier than ‘Ask Enjolras’. Actually, come to think of it, even ‘Ask R’ would be catchier than ‘Ask Enjolras’. His name was just too long for a catchy advice column title. He’d have to talk to Cosette about it tomorrow, but for now, there were more ‘Dear R’ columns waiting for him.

 

\----

 

_Dear R,_

_My best friend’s getting married, and she asked me to go wedding dress shopping with her, but I don’t know the first thing about wedding dresses, or weddings in general. I don’t know what to do. Should I come with her, even though I won’t be able to help much? I hope you can help._

_Sincerely,_

_Unsure_

_Dear Unsure,_

_Firstly, let me start this off with a HUGE congratulations to your best friend. And also, I absolutely love weddings, so hearing about people committing themselves to each other makes my day. Don’t worry about your lack of knowledge about weddings or wedding dresses! When it comes to these types of things, all that really matters is what you truly think, regardless of necklines and fabric and such. Honestly, it’s much better if you don’t know much about wedding dresses, because your opinion about certain fabrics or cuts might influence a lot of what you say to the bride-to-be. You just need to know if the dress looks good on her or not, and at the end of the day, it only really matters if she can picture herself walking down the aisle in it. I would come with, because even if you won’t prove very helpful, it’s always worth it to see every step of the journey. I hope I helped you._

_All the best,_

_R_

 

\----

 

When Enjolras arrives at the office the next morning, he goes straight to Cosette. Well, more like runs into her.

 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, did I spill my coffee on you?” Cosette spluttered.

 

Enjolras laughed and shook his head, “No, no, don’t worry. I, um, I was actually looking for you.”

  
Cosette straightened her pink blazer, “Oh, what for?”

 

“I want to change my column’s name.”  


“You want to change it,” Cosette repeated.

 

“Yes.”  


“Why?”  


“Because ‘Ask Enjolras’ isn’t nearly as catchy as ‘Dear R’. I need a catchy title, Cosette.”

 

Cosette rolled her eyes, “This is still about your rival, isn’t it?”

 

Enjolras didn’t say anything.

 

“You need to stop being so obsessed over him, Enj. Focus more on your advice, not someone else’s. And no, I am not going to change your column’s title.”

 

“But, Cosette-“

 

“No ‘but, Cosette-ing’ me, I’m your boss, mister. Now, shut up about your freakish obsession and go answer letters. And if you don’t want to answer letters, go make yourself some crappy coffee.”

 

“What about both?”

 

Cosette smiled, “Both is good.”

 

\----

 

_Dear Enjolras,_

_I have an online friend who I just recently found out lives in the same area, and he asked to meet up. I really want to meet him in person, but I’m afraid he won’t like me. What should I do?_

_Sincerely,_

_Troubled_

 

Enjolras slammed his fist down on his desk, eyes wide. This was it. This was his answer. This was how he’d finally get over his ‘obsession’.

 

\----

 

“Cosette! Cosette, hey, can we talk?”

 

Cosette looked up from her computer and blinked, “Yes, what do you need?”

 

“I have an idea for how I can get over my obsession.”  


“Please elaborate.”  


“What if I just met up with R in person? Then I could find out what makes his column so successful, and hopefully we can become friends, and that’ll solve all my problems!”

 

Cosette promptly choked on her coffee, “Where did you get this idea from?”

 

“A letter. Why, do you not like it?”  


“No, no, I like it. It’s just…I don’t know if it’ll work. I’ve heard that R’s in pretty high demand now. Everyone wants to speak with him- fans, readers, fellow advice columnists, fellow journalists, reporters, bloggers. Plus, he’s pretty much booked solid on interviews. But you could give it a try, I guess.”

 

Enjolras nodded before rushing out of her office. He was going to get his chance to speak with R no matter what.

 

\----

 

_From:_ [ _enjolras@thejournal.com_ ](mailto:enjolras@thejournal.com)

_To:_ [ _r@thescript.com_ ](mailto:r@thescript.com)

_Subject: Meeting_

_Dear R,_

_I wanted to meet up with you to discuss our relations as rival advice columnists. You may have heard of me, as I work for The Journal. I have definitely heard of you, and if I may say so, some of your advice is amazing. I hope we can be friends, even though we’re rivals._

_Sincerely,_

_Enjolras_

 

\----

 

_From:_ [ _r@thescript.com_ ](mailto:r@thescript.com)

_To:_ [ _enjolras@thejournal.com_ ](mailto:enjolras@thejournal.com)

_Subject: Re: Meeting_

_Dear Enjolras,_

_Of course I’ve heard of you, you pretentious idiot! I don’t know anyone who hasn’t. BTW, I read your columns like every week, so…don’t worry, advice has not been stolen. All my stuff comes from the heart, the mind, my best friend’s trashy chick flick collection, Seinfeld reruns, Cicero’s letters or Twitter. I’m gushing, aren’t I? Well, anyways, I would feel honoured to meet with you in person *bows*. This isn’t just an advice letter, right??? Because, I mean, you’re an advice columnist, why would you ask for advice, and from me of all people-_

  1. _Never mind. I was gushing again._



_All the best,_

_R_

_HE LOVES YOUR DAMN WORK GIVE HIM A SIGNED TEDDY BEAR WITH YOUR FACE TAPED TO IT WILL YOU_

_P.S. Sorry that was Eponine. She doesn’t know about the existence of boundaries._

\----

_From: enjolras@thejournal.com_

_To: r@thescript.com_

_Subject: Re: Re: Meeting_

_Dear R,_

_Well I’m glad to hear that people have heard of me. I didn’t think you stole any of my advice, anyways. We have completely different styles. Plus, it sounds like you’ve got a collection of inspiration, while all I have is my friend’s Instagram feed. And trust me, it’s not exactly what you’d call ‘inspirational’. It’s not an advice letter, of course not. And, yes, you are gushing._

_Would Thursday at lunch at the Café Musain work for you?_

_Sincerely,_

_Enjolras_

_P.S. No worries. I have friends who don’t know what boundaries are, too._

\----

_From:_ [ _r@thescript.com_ ](mailto:r@thescript.com)

_To:_ [ _enjolras@thejournal.com_ ](mailto:enjolras@thejournal.com)

_Subject: Re: Re: Re: Meeting_

_Dear Enjolras,_

_Yes, Thursday at lunch works for me. See you then!_  
  


_All the best,_

_R_

_P.S. I say we both get new friends. Ones who knows what boundaries are._

 

\----

 

The week rolled on fairly quickly, and Enjolras was pretty sure it was still Tuesday when everyone claimed it to be Thursday (seriously, time couldn’t have passed that fast). But even his phone kept reminding him he was meeting up with R at lunch, so it wasn’t Tuesday.

 

However, as Enjolras was getting dressed that morning, he realized he didn’t really have anything that didn’t scream ‘pretentious’. His favourite red tie was completely off-limits, because a) it was silk and silk had ‘pretentious’ written all over it and b) Cosette had once told him that tie was enough to seduce anyone, and he wasn’t planning on seducing R. Most of his ties were off-limits, actually, which meant that he’d have manage without a tie today.

 

Which led to the ultimate decision to not wear anything remotely close to what he normally did- no suits, no ties, no dress shirts. He settled for his favourite red blazer, a loose white t-shirt and a pair of not-ripped not-faded skinny jeans. Hopefully that would give the right impression.

 

\----

 

He almost didn’t recognize R at the Musain. In all the pictures of him Enjolras had ever seen, he was wearing some kind of loosely-fitted t-shirt and bright skinny jeans (which, in all honesty, should be illegal on him). But today his jeans were a regular light blue, and whatever t-shirt he had on was hidden underneath a paint-stained green hoodie. He was sitting at a table near one of the large windows, hunched over a sketchbook, blue eyes narrowed in determination. Enjolras walked up to his table.

 

“Umm, R?”

 

R lost his grip on his sketchbook and looked up, “Yeah?”

 

“Hi, I’m Enjolras.”

 

“Oh! Oh, Enjolras, hi! Sorry, I, umm, well, yeah, hi.”

 

Enjolras smiled and sat down. R brushed the stray curls out of his eyes and held his hand out across the table.

 

“I wanted to introduce myself properly. My name’s Grantaire, but as you know, I go by R.”

 

Enjolras shook his hand and laughed, “Nice pun.”  


“Oh, thanks, not many people get it. So, you wanted to meet up. Why?”

 

“Well, like I said in my email, I want us to be friends. I mean, I understand that we’re business rivals and all that, but that can’t-“

 

“Enjolras. You don’t need to keep explaining your motives.”

 

“Oh. Well. OK, then. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

 

“Now that all that’s been cleared up, how do you want to go about this thing?”

 

Enjolras opened a menu, “I think we should start with coffee.”

 

\----

 

“-and all I’m saying is that when people write letters to you, they’re expecting real advice, not that business crap you write.”

 

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, “It’s not business crap, whatever that means. I’m being serious about my job, I give people advice that’ll actually help them. You, on the other hand, give people stupid advice, like ‘sleep it off’, or ‘burn your wedding ring in the fires of Mordor’, that they’ve probably heard before. They come to us because they want professional help, not an impromptu summary of Lord of the Rings.”

 

Grantaire laughed, “OK, firstly, I’m serious about my job, too, and I believe that you need to have fun as an advice columnist. You’re not reporting about some politician’s campaign, you’re helping people. Besides, adding a bit of humor in your columns wouldn’t hurt, you know? I actually got a reply to that column about burning the wedding ring, and the girl who originally asked for advice said that made her day, which I feel is what our job is all about. Our role is to help people, and typing up essays with step-by-step instructions on how to solve their problems isn’t what they’re expecting, either.”

 

They continued walking down the street in silence. Enjolras hadn’t expected lunch to go like this: well, if he was to be honest, he also didn’t expect Grantaire to be so opinionated. Or an artist. There were a lot of things he hadn’t expected, to put it simply.

 

“Umm, this is your building,” Grantaire said suddenly, breaking the silence.

 

Enjolras looked up and frowned, “Huh?”

 

“Your building, where you work. We’re, umm, in front of it, and I’m assuming you have to go back to work, so…”

 

This was the least articulate Grantaire had been the entire time, and the thought made Enjolras smile, because he was rather annoyed by his constant arguments.

 

“Oh, yeah, my building. I should, uh, go back, then. It was nice meeting you, R.”

 

Grantaire looked at him curiously and nodded, “It was nice meeting you too, Apollo.”

 

He gave a mock salute before heading off in the direction of _The Script_ ’s office, leaving Enjolras to stand in confusion in the middle of a very busy street.

 

~

 

“Enjolras! How was lunch?”

 

Cosette stopped him in the busy office, hands outstretched with coffee cups. Enjolras nodded in gratitude before grabbing one and taking a long, slow sip.

 

“Well, we argued. A lot. About many things. All in the span of approximately half an hour. And he’s so annoying, and careless, and opinionated, and way too articulate for someone who quotes young adult fiction in his columns.”  


Cosette stared blankly at him.

 

Enjolras sighed, “It didn’t go as I expected.”

 

Cosette smiled sympathetically, “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Surely it couldn’t have been that bad-“

 

“It was that bad, though. Grantaire had an argument to everything I said, and, I mean, sure he’s smart and stuff, but he was so rude.”

 

“Grantaire?”

 

“R.”

 

She nodded, “I see. But how did you expect it to go, anyways? Did you think you’d become best friends?”

 

“No, of course not. I just didn’t expect someone so…so… _stupid_ and…and _opinionated_ and _careless_ and _sarcastic_. I mean, I may or may not have expected him to be stupid on some level, because only stupid people give stupid advice, but his level of stupidity exceeded my expectations.”

 

“U huh,’ Cosette said. ‘Could it be he’s just so smart that he irritates you with his intelligence? Because you did say he was, quote unquote, ‘smart and stuff.’”

 

Enjolras frowned, “Smart people don’t irritate me, though. He’s just stupid, OK?”

 

“OK, OK, the journalist whose columns you read obsessively is stupid.”

 

Enjolras narrowed his eyes and stalked off with the coffee, ignoring Cosette’s fairy laughter.

 

~

 

Marius knocked on Enjolras’ office as he was writing up a column. The letter was held against the desk with paperweights and, beside it, there was a stack of old ‘Dear R’ columns, cut out from the newspaper itself, and a collection of mismatched Sharpie highlighters.

 

“Enjolras? Are you in here? I see light, so I’m-“

 

Enjolras sighed in frustration, got up, and opened the door. Marius’ hand was raised, as if he was about to knock. He quickly lowered it and straightened his posture- something Enjolras noticed many people did around him, for some reason.

 

“Yes, Marius?”

 

“I, uh…umm…well, you see, I needed your advice- help- on something.”

 

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, “What do you need my help for?”

 

“I need you to look through my review of that performance of The Sleeping Beauty I went to a few days ago.”

 

“You mean edit? That’s why we have an editor, Marius.”

 

“Yeah, I…I know, but, Cosette said you’re good at, like, writing and stuff, and she thinks I need more, umm, description? I guess?”

 

“Sure, I’ll look over your review, but only because Cosette said so. Do you have a hard copy with you?”

 

“Y-yeah.”

 

Stuttering was also something a lot of people did around Enjolras, for reasons he did not know.

 

Marius handed him a copy of his review with shaking hands, and as soon as the paper was with Enjolras, he walked off at a pace that some might consider running. Enjolras frowned down at the paper before returning to his desk, setting it aside, and continuing to work on his column.

 

~

 

_Dear Enjolras,_

_I have an online friend who I just recently found out lives in the same area, and he asked to meet up. I really want to meet him in person, but I’m afraid he won’t like me. What should I do?_

_Sincerely,_

_Troubled_

 

Enjolras reread the letter several times.

 

_Dear Troubled,_

_If your online friend wants to meet you in real life, not virtually, chances are he already likes you as a person. Maybe you’re just scared that he won’t turn out to be like he is online, and rightfully so, but don’t let that get to you. Your online friend is probably someone you’d love to know apart from the Internet, someone who you’d like to spend time with at, say, a park or museum or something, so you don’t really have anything to worry about. Just be yourself, or as close to your Internet-self as you can get. ~~However, your online friend can also turn out to be a total jerk and completely different from how you imagined him, and he’ll call your writing ‘business crap’ and say stupid things even though you know he’s really smart and maybe he’ll wear something that’s completely indecent, like a paint-stained hoodie, and he’ll criticize your work even though you originally intended for a friendly meeting. And maybe you’ll end up hating him and never wanting anything to do with him again because he’s mean and inconsiderate and worthless, but you’ll find yourself looking through a stack of his columns that you’ve kept on your desk for months because you really like his work, and you can’t help that he has a way with words and maybe you’re just in denial that, OK, it’s a possibility that you sort of like him as a person, you know?~~ He might not turn out the way you expected, but you really shouldn’t let bad thoughts like that get to you, because I’m sure this online friends of yours genuinely thinks highly of you and is a wonderful person. After all, online friends are real friends, too._

_Sincerely,_

_Enjolras_

 

~

 

“I read your column, and I think you’re venting out all that frustration about lunch,” Cosette said loudly.

 

Enjolras frowned, “I am not venting anything into my column. It’s strictly professional.”

 

“You let your professionalism slip for a moment, then.”

 

“I did no such thing! I just wrote that online friends are good and they have nothing to worry about.”

 

Cosette shook her head, “Yeah, but it sounds like you’re venting out your feelings into this column.”  


“Feelings?”

 

“Yes, feelings, something that comes with being human. Listen, maybe it just seems like that to me because you did rant about lunch when you came back, so you should probably get a second opinion.”

 

“But…but you’re the editor.”

 

“Yes, and?”

 

“You’re supposed to look over the column and make sure it’s good for publishing.”  
  
“And I’m saying you need someone else to tell you if you’re venting or not. The writing is flawless, as per usual, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just get someone- anyone- to look over it.”

 

Enjolras sighed. Cosette handed him the column with an apologetic smile.

 

“Fine, I’ll get Combeferre’s advice.”

 

“Ironic, isn’t it? An advice columnist needing advice.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Cosette smiled, “Remember, I’m your boss.”

 

Enjolras rolled his eyes.

 

~

 

Enjolras nervously sat on the edge of the bar stool as Combeferre paced around their kitchen, reading his column and nodding once in a while.

 

“Well?”

 

Combeferre looked up, “Well what?”

 

“Are you done yet? You’ve been reading it for, like, an hour.”

 

“Twelve minutes, and yes, I am done.”

 

“And?”

 

“It was fine. Good attention to grammar, as always, and strong advice.”  


“So it didn’t sound like I was ranting about lunch in there?”

 

Combeferre frowned and put the column aside, “What happened at lunch?”

 

Enjolras sighed, “It’s a long story, actually.”

 

“I have all evening.”

 

~

 

“-and then he completely attacked my style of writing and criticized my columns! I mean, he’s so rude and stupid and…and obnoxious and thinks he knows everything and-“  


Combeferre held up a hand, “Are we still talking about Grantaire?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh, well, it sounds like you’re talking about an entirely different person. You start off saying how you admire him and his work, so you schedule a meeting, and he’s just as witty and attractive as he seems, and then all of a sudden he’s rude.”

 

“I never said he was attractive,” Enjolras muttered.

 

“It was implied. But, seriously, was he that rude?”

 

“He was awful, Ferre! You wouldn’t know because you weren’t there. He’s bratty and stuck-up and stupid and mean and sarcastic and cynical and opinionated and…and witty, and funny, and slightly attractive and an amazing artist, and…oh, I’m screwed. I’m so, so, so very screwed.”

 

Enjolras stuck his face in a pillow and emitted a whining noise that vaguely resembled a dying whale (or a coyote). Combeferre sighed, but remained silent for some time.

 

“It’s OK to develop feelings, Enj. It comes with being human.”

 

“Feelings. Ha. I don’t have _feelings_ for him, I just…don’t hate him.”

 

“Dislike is also a feeling.”

 

“Oh, well, poo. Feelings are poo.”

 

“I feel like we’re thirteen again,” Combeferre muttered.

 

Enjolras rolled over on the couch to face him, frowning. Why couldn’t Combeferre just understand that _he did not have feelings for Grantaire_? Was it really that hard to get? Apparently, it was.

 

“When we were thirteen,’ Enjolras began sharply. ‘You had a giant crush on Courf and I was sent down to the office so often I just stopped coming to class at all.”

 

Combeferre laughed, “Yeah, I remember sneaking out to give you all the work we got. But that’s beside the point. My point is that you’re denying your feelings when you should embrace them.”

 

“You sound like a Disney movie.”

 

“Well, Disney can teach you a lot of life lessons.”

 

“Whatever, I get it. I have feelings, I’m human, blah blah blah.”

 

Combeferre patted his head, “Wow, you’re a real boy, Pinocchio.”

 

He walked off before Enjolras could repeatedly swat him with several pillows.

 

~

 

During his lunch break the next day, Enjolras found himself stalking Grantaire’s blog. It was considerably new, being only a few months old, and was something he had created to ‘be able to answer all of his letters’. Total and absolute crap, in Enjolras’ opinion, but the advice was worth it. There were three new posts from the previous day, and Enjolras immediately clicked on them to ‘read more’.

 

The first one answered a letter sent by someone who feared their teenage daughter was pregnant, and didn’t know what to do if that were the case. Grantaire, being neither a parent nor a female, provided as much advice as he could, which was, granted, not a lot. It was still extremely well-written. And good. Enjolras would deny he ever thought both of those things until the end of time.

 

When Enjolras was halfway through the third post, Cosette suddenly opened the door. He almost fell out of his chair.

 

“God, Cosette, you can’t just do that.”

 

“Do what? Tell you that your break is over?”

 

“…Oh.”

 

“Yeah. Get working.”

 

The door slammed behind her. Enjolras frowned at his computer screen. He had just one paragraph left, it wouldn’t take too long to read, and Cosette would never know.

 

And then he saw the new post from this morning.

 

~

 

“Enjolras. Enjolras! ENJOLRAS!”

 

Enjolras lifted his head and looked up, startled, at Courfeyrac, who was standing in his doorway, clad in an outfit much too glittery for such an hour.

 

“What time ‘sit?” Enjolras asked.

 

“Nine. You fell asleep a few hours ago.”

 

“I did?”

 

“Yeah, you came here to finish your column, remember?”

 

Enjolras frowned and then nodded.

 

“Ferre and I are heading out to The Corinth, there’s pizza in the fridge if you want.”

 

“Why are you going?”

 

Courfeyrac stared at him as if he were crazy (which he was not, thank you very much).

 

“Umm, maybe because we want to live a little and have fun?”

 

Enjolras looked down at his cluttered desk, “Oh. Umm. OK, then. Have fun, I guess.”

 

Courfeyrac watched him with an unreadable expression before nodding and walking off. Enjolras soon heard the apartment door close, and he rested his head on his hands, eyes closed. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed the disorganized stack of cut-out ‘Dear R’ columns on the side of his desk. It was the exact same stack he had at his office, except it wasn’t covered in highlighter marks. It simply sat there, held together by a single red paperclip. He picked it up and started leafing through the collection of papers.

 

_Dear R,_

_My daughter’s best friend invited her to a slumber party that will consist of both boys and girls. I know she wants to go, and she’s a good kid, but based on what I’ve heard on the news, during parent council meetings, from the school board and from other parents, I’m not so sure it’s a great idea. Should I still let her go?_

_Sincerely,_

_Concerned_

_Dear Concerned,_

_One huge part of parenting (I know this only from books and my sister’s personal experience) is learning to trust your kid. Sure, there are always bad influences around them, but if you say your daughter’s a good kid, then you have to trust her to make the right decision. My best friend, Eponine, is a girl, and we used to have slumber parties with both genders all the time (we still do, with our closest friends, but no one needs to know that), and nothing bad happened. I think that, when it comes to things like this, the outcome of the party is really based on the group of kids that attended it. If this is a party with relatively good kids, then you’ll have no problems. But if this party consists of the trouble-makers and no-good-doers, then you do have something to worry about. You should let your daughter go, but make sure she knows she can contact you, that she HAS a way to contact you, and talk to the other parents involved in this. Communicate with the parent who is hosting the party, because that’ll probably help ease your worries. You could probably even ask who else is invited to clarify that it’s pretty much a good-kids-only party. Either way, you should let your daughter have independence while also giving her responsibilities and consequences, in case anything goes wrong. I hope this helps._

_All the best,_

_R_

 

That was one of his favorite columns. As Enjolras read through it, he frowned, because the man who had written this column could not be the same man he’d had lunch with two days ago. The man who had written the column was a genuinely nice person, who wanted to help people and read books about parenting even though he isn’t a parent, and who wrote like he actually cared about these people, while the man he’d had lunch with was a total brat, a jerk, completely rude and stupid and mean and couldn’t possibly know how to help people.

 

Except they were the same man, and that bothered Enjolras more than it should have.

 

Maybe he was only rude to him? What if he was actually nice to other people? Did he have something against him?

 

Enjolras rested his head on his arms and sighed, pushing aside the stack of columns. He needed to clear his head from thoughts of Grantaire, and badly. Right now, the pizza was calling his name, and he decided that eating something other than a granola bar would be a good start.

 

~

 

The next day, he was interrupted while working on editing Marius’ review during his lunch break by a loud, obnoxious knock at the door. He grumbled to himself, setting aside his Chinese take-out and stalking to the door. He frowned when he saw Grantaire standing in the doorway, hand raised to knock again. He was holding an envelope in his other hand.

 

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, “What do you want?”

 

Grantaire blinked at him in surprise, and after a few seconds of silence, handed the envelope to Enjolras.

 

“This is yours, it got mailed to my office on accident.”

 

Enjolras took the envelope and scowled, “Yeah, right.”

 

“It’s true. I’m not just going to give you a letter that’s rightfully mine. This is actually yours.”

 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, and as he walked back to his desk to put it down, he noticed Grantaire’s eyes following him. He briskly turned around and sighed, arms crossed over his chest.

 

“What?”

 

“Are you on your lunch break or something?”

 

Enjolras followed Grantaire’s gaze to his take-out box, “Why are you asking?”

 

Grantaire shrugged, “I saw your take-out.”

 

“Well, then, yes, I am on my lunch break.”

 

“Oh, did I ruin it?”

 

“Yeah, you did.”

 

“Too bad.”

 

Enjolras shook his head as Grantaire waved and disappeared, gently closing the door behind him. He found himself smiling fondly, the way he did when Cosette reached a goal on her Tumblr, or when Courfeyrac does something stupid, and he doesn’t really know why. He doesn’t question it, either.

 

~

 

“I think,’ Courfeyrac announced loudly. ‘Our little Enjolras has a severe case of lovesickness.”

 

Enjolras looked up from his laptop.

 

“What?”

 

Combeferre shook his head, “Ignore him. Do yourself a favour.”

 

“No, but hear me out!’ Courfeyrac crawled across the couch to sit beside Enjolras. ‘You have a severe case of lovesickness. Wait- let me finish. You’re obviously head-over-heels in love with Grantaire. Trust me, I’m love personified. You obsessively stalk his blog, you have piles of all his columns, and there’s…there’s just this look in your eyes when you talk about him.”

 

“It’s called hatred,” Enjolras said bluntly.

 

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, “It’s not hatred, whatever you say. It’s love.”

 

He attempted to create a heart with his hands, but in doing so, fell off the couch. Enjolras just glared at him and got up.

 

“Serves you right.”

 

Courfeyrac sat up and shook his head fondly, “They grow up so fast.”

 

~

 

_Dear Enjolras,_

_I have a crush on my best friend, but he’s always shown interest in someone else. My other friends keep telling me to ask him out, but I’m really afraid that it might ruin our friendship. What should I do?_

_Sincerely,_

_In Love_

 

Now this. This was just plain cruel. This was probably some stupid prank Courfeyrac was playing on him- requesting love advice because, apparently, he was ‘head-over-heels’ in love with Grantaire. Oh, god, Courfeyrac was getting to him.

 

~

 

“I refuse to do this letter,” Enjolras said, slamming the envelope down on Cosette’s desk.

 

Cosette jumped in her seat, startled, and looked up at him with confusion, hands hovering over her keyboard.

 

“OK….?”

 

“Great, then I’m not doing it.”

 

“May I ask why?”

 

“It’s a letter requesting advice on love. And, according to Courf, I’m in love so of course I’d be able to answer a fricking request for love advice. I hate him sometimes.”  


Cosette took a deep breath and sighed, “This isn’t about Grantaire again, is it?”

 

“He thinks I’m in love with him. Which is completely idiotic because Grantaire is irritating and stupid and I don’t like him.”

 

“Courf’s not wrong,” Cosette muttered under her breath.

 

She turned her chair around to face Enjolras.

 

“Listen, you don’t have to do this letter if you don’t want to, because obviously you can’t handle the maturity that comes with it. Don’t interrupt me, I’m still your boss. Now, all I ask is that you come to this interview with People’s tomorrow. It’s nothing too fancy, just a photoshoot and interview. But I’m going to tell you now, there are going to be a bunch of other advice columnists from across the country. And you have to be there, deal?”

 

“Deal.”  


Cosette smiled, “Good. Be here at nine sharp, or you lose your spot.”

 

“I’ll be here on time, don’t worry,” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

 

Cosette nodded approvingly and took the envelope he had placed on her desk. She turned it over in her hand and frowned, setting it aside.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just, well…never mind. It’s not important.”

 

“What? Tell me.”

 

“I don’t think Courf is entirely wrong.”

 

Enjolras almost middle-fingered her, but then he remembered she was still his boss, so he angrily stalked off instead.

 

~

 

When he got to his office the next day, he found it swarming with columnists, photographers, reporters and stylists. The cameras, lighting and backdrop for the photoshoots were assembled on one side of the room, and in the other, the reporters were busy running things through with the columnists and their editors. He noticed that the individual offices, like Cosette’s, were being used as dressing rooms. If his was being used as one, whoever had decided to make that happen would most certainly get killed.

 

He made his way over to the reporters, saying hello to the columnists he knew (and the ones he liked).

 

“Monsieur Enjolras!” A stylist called.

 

Enjolras pushed his way out of the crowd again and followed her into a dressing room. The stylist, whose name he learned was Adeline, guided him over to one of this big vanities and started looking through a rack of clothing for whatever it was he was supposed to wear. He looked around the room and frowned. Right beside him, flipping through one of those home décor magazines, was Grantaire.

 

“What are you doing?” Enjolras hissed.

 

Grantaire looked up at him, confusion showing through his very blue eyes. Enjolras noticed he wasn’t wearing make-up, or at least anything noticeable, and he hadn’t changed out of his clothes yet.

 

“Reading Home & Décor. I’m planning on renovating my apartment, and I need ideas.”

 

“I mean here,’ Enjolras corrected. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t show.”

 

Grantaire snorted, “You think I’d turn this opportunity down?”

 

“No. I just didn’t expect to see you here.”

 

“Right. More like ‘hoped not to see you here’.”

 

“You’re a very unlikeable person, you know that?”

 

Grantaire smiled, “Darling, I’m a very _loveable_ person. That’s where you got your facts wrong.”

 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, “Oh, please. You wish.”  


“Upon a star, every night.”

 

“Why aren’t you wearing make-up?”

 

Grantaire tilted his head, “What?”

 

“Everyone else is wearing make-up, so why aren’t you?”  


Grantaire shrugged, “I don’t want to? They can give me eyeliner, sure, I’ll wear that, but all that mascara and lip gloss crap, no way. I saw one of the stylists carrying eye shadow around, and _hell_ no. They can dress me up in whatever crap they want, hell, I’ll even go out for that photoshoot _shirtless_ , but I am not, under any circumstances, wearing make-up.”

 

“Oh. OK.”

 

“What about you, are you going to wear it?”

 

“Probably not.”

 

“Why not? I think you’d look hot with some eyeliner and red lipstick.”

 

“Like I said before, you’re very unlikeable.”

 

Grantaire just rolled his eyes and continued flipping through his magazine.

 

~

 

Enjolras was supposed to wear a loose-fitting white t-shirt and bright red jeans for the photoshoot, which wasn’t exactly what he wanted to be wearing on a magazine. But he found that he had, apparently, agreed to wear it because he was too busy staring at Grantaire (who looked very good shirtless, mind you) to notice what he was saying.

 

Which was how he ended up in a t-shirt and jeans for the photoshoot.

 

It wasn’t his choice outfit, but he had to admit, the photos turned out damn good. Maybe he should become a model- at least then he wouldn’t have to see Grantaire at all.

 

But, maybe, seeing him wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

~

 

It was evening when the photoshoot was finally over, and Enjolras was rather surprised that doing basically nothing all day was tiring. All he wanted to do was sleep for eternity, preferably on a bed, but he reluctantly forced himself to change out of the photoshoot outfit and get some coffee.

 

Grantaire was sprawled across the lounge in the room, talking to a dark-haired girl clad in a black dress. The girl said something, and Grantaire smiled. He then proceeded to kiss her hand, and she fondly rolled her eyes. Enjolras narrowed his eyes, and for weird reason, he felt a sudden desire to kidnap the girl, rip her to pieces, and burn her over a fire pit in the middle of the woods.

 

Jealousy.

 

He was jealous.

 

But why was he jealous? He wasn’t in love.

 

He was not.

 

No matter what anyone (read: Courfeyrac) said, he _was not_ in love. Especially not with Grantaire, of all people.

 

He was stupid and brash and opinionated and…well, yes, attractive, but he certainly wasn’t Enjolras’ type.

 

Enjolras’ type was…well, whatever it was, it was not Grantaire.

 

He wasn’t in love.

 

Enjolras cleared his throat, “Umm, hello? Can I come in?”

 

Both Grantaire and Mystery Girl perked up. Grantaire immediately sat up, fixing his shirt (which had ridden up at some point, not that anyone seemed to mind) and awkwardly running a hand through his hair. Mystery Girl, however, just looked completely amused. Enjolras noticed the clipboard on her lap, and the shiny diamond ring on her finger.

 

“Umm, yeah, of course,’ Grantaire replied. ‘Sorry about that.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“This is Eponine, by the way,” Grantaire said awkwardly, gesturing to Mystery Girl.

 

Mystery Girl- Eponine- nodded, “I’m his editor, not his girlfriend.”

 

“She’s out of my league.”  


Enjolras nodded slowly. He lowered his gaze to the ring on her finger, and she held her hand up and smiled.

 

“I’m not engaged to R, if you were wondering. I’m engaged to Montparnasse, who is someone else entirely. R and I are just best friends.”  


“I…I w-wasn’t…wondering,” Enjolras stammered.

 

Why was his heart doing this weird fluttery thing?

 

Maybe he should get Combeferre to check it out.

 

Eponine smiled knowingly, “Sure. I’ll just be going, then. Lots of editor-ish things to do.”

 

Grantaire watched her leave with a small, fond smile. It made him feel warm and fuzzy, and that was most likely not a very good symptom. Combeferre could tell him.

 

Grantaire turned to him, “I’m assuming you’re going to change, so I’ll give you privacy.”

 

“So nice of you.”  


“I know, I’m a very nice person. See you later.”

 

He left the room, closing the door on his way out. Once again, Enjolras found himself smiling, but he wasn’t exactly sure why.

 

He probably just needed coffee in his system.

 

~

 

“Your heart does weird fluttery things, you smile fondly, you get butterflies in your stomach, you feel warm and fuzzy, you smile for no reason when he’s around you, you obsessively stalk his blog, you admit that he’s attractive, and you’re jealous when he shows affection for other people.”

 

Enjolras sighed and shoved his face in a pillow, “See? I have a cold.”

 

Combeferre sighed loudly, “Enjolras, honey, you don’t have a cold.”

 

“Then what do I have? Please tell me it’s not serious, I still have to show up for work on Monday.”  


Combeferre sighed loudly again, “Enjolras. Mon ami. This is not a sickness, nor is it incurable. You’re in love.”

 

Enjolras sat up, “I am not in love. I have a cold. Check if I have a fever, Courf told me I have one.”  


“He was just messing with you. Enj, you’re in love. Face it. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

 

“Surely there is! Is there medication I can take? Would therapy help? Should I get psychiatric help? Is it serious, do we need to go to the ER? Will I be good for work? Please tell me there’s, like, some form of medication for this.”

 

Combeferre just blinked at him and stood up.

 

“I’m just…not going to answer that.”

 

And then he walked off, leaving behind a very confused Enjolras.

 

~

 

On Monday, Cosette called Enjolras to her office. When he arrived, she looked extremely concerned.

 

“Hi,” He said weakly.

 

“Oh, darling, are you OK?”

 

Enjolras ran a hand through his hair, “No.”  


“What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m in love. I’m sick. And medication won’t help.”

 

Cosette smiled, “Congratulations.”  


“Congratulations? Love is awful! It…it does things to me and I feel weird and-“

 

“It’s Grantaire, isn’t it?”

 

Enjolras frowned, “I am hurt that he’s the first person that comes to mind.”

 

“But you’re not denying that it’s him.”

 

“Well…it’s not. I’m not even in love, Ferre is just a crap doctor.”

 

“I can assure you, he is not.”

 

“He just hasn’t ever diagnosed you with anything yet. Just wait until he tells you that you have a ‘common cold’ and it turns out to be pneumonia!”

 

Cosette shook her head and dismissed him.

 

~

 

_Dear Enjolras,_

_My best friend and I recently had a really big fight, and we’re not talking now. The only reason we ever really fought was because I liked her boyfriend. They broke up, too, and he just asked me out. I like him, but I also really want us to be friends again. What should I do?_

_Sincerely,_

_Desperate_

_Dear Desperate,_

_I hear this kind of thing happens frequently. It is normal for best friends to argue (in fact, it’s healthy for a long-lasting relationship), especially over romantic partners. I would tell you to go after the boy, like everyone else, except that I don’t think that’s going to help you. Your first step is to ask yourself what’s more important and valuable to you: the boy, or your friend. After you’ve considered this, make a wise decision. Choosing the boy over your friend could potentially mean you eternally lose your best friend, but choosing your friend over the boy could mean losing someone you are romantically interested in. I’ll tell you this, though: good friends are hard to find, but easy to lose. Boyfriends are easy to find and even easier to lose. Think this through before you make a decision, and you’ll choose the right path._

_Sincerely,_

_Enjolras_

~

 

Enjolras didn’t know what he did, but now Grantaire wasn’t talking to him. They would pass each other on the street, and he didn’t say anything. Enjolras would try and have a civilized conversation with him at the Musain, and he’d only nod in reply.

 

He didn’t know what he had done, and it was incredibly frustrating.

 

It seemed like everyone else knew, though, because every time he asked someone what he had done, they answered with a sympathetic smile and said nothing on the topic.

 

It was annoying.

 

Grantaire was annoying.

 

~

 

One day, as Enjolras was heading home, he saw Grantaire leaving the Musain. He had a train to catch, but this was more important. He ran at full speed towards him, dodging people as best as he could.

 

“Grantaire! Wait! Why are you ignoring me? Why aren’t you talking to me?” He called.

 

Grantaire paused and slowly turned around. Enjolras had missed those gorgeous blue eyes. He had missed everything about him.

 

Grantaire sighed loudly, “You know what they say, little boys who play with fire get their fingers burned.”

 

Enjolras opened his mouth in confusion, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, head tilted to the side. He shook his head, and Grantaire simply shrugged and started walking away again. Enjolras curled his hands into fists at his side.

 

“I demand to know what that means! I have the right to know!” He yelled after him.

 

When Grantaire didn’t respond, Enjolras frowned and angrily stalked away to the metro station.

 

~

 

A week had passed, and Grantaire still hadn’t made any attempts towards reconciliation. Enjolras was starting to get worried, because he must have done something to offend him. He didn’t remember saying anything particularly mean, or beating him up, so what was it? Why wasn’t Grantaire talking to him?

 

Sometimes, he thought it would be better not to know the answer.

 

~

 

Enjolras was working on his latest column when Cosette came into his office with a newspaper in her hand.

 

“Grantaire’s latest column,’ She explained. ‘I thought you might want to read it, see what he’s up to.”

 

Before Enjolras could respond, she tossed it on his desk and left, closing the door behind her. Enjolras frowned and picked it up, automatically flipping to Grantaire’s column.

 

_Dear R,_

_There’s this guy I really like, but I don’t think he likes me back. We’re not exactly friends, but I’m still worried it’ll ruin what we already have. What should I do?_

_Sincerely,_

_Crushing_

_Dear Crushing,_

_Let me tell you, from firsthand experience, that unrequited love is awful. It sucks, and it makes you feel like crap, but sometimes, it can pay off. Let me begin this by telling you about my recent experiences. I know someone, who I love and admire and hope to be one day (they don’t know that), but I think he doesn’t like me back. They act like they despise my soul, and are always irritated when they see me. They’re quite possibly the most beautiful human being I know, inside and out (sorry, Eponine), but it feels like sometimes they don’t even bother to acknowledge me. It hurts, it really does, and sometimes I like to believe that it would all stop if I just told them how I felt. The moral of the story is that I don’t want you to go through the same thing. If you love him, just go for it. If he doesn’t love you back, he doesn’t deserve you. And if that’s the case, one day you’ll find someone you love just as much (or even more), and who loves you back. Whatever you do, it’ll pay off in the end. I’m sorry if I got you down, love is sometimes a sad subject, and I hope you get your happy ending, whether it’s with this guy or not._

_All the best,_

_R_

He stared, open-mouthed, at the column. Grantaire had referred to the mystery person he liked as ‘they’ throughout the column, except that he wrote ‘he’ once. And he had called said mystery person the ‘most beautiful human being’ he knew. And, apparently, mystery person was always irritated upon seeing him.

 

So maybe Enjolras thought of himself when he read the column.

 

He decided to go for it, and ran out of his office in a hurry.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Cosette asked.

 

“To Grantaire! I have something to tell him!”

 

“I hope it’s something good,” Cosette muttered, shaking her head.

 

Enjolras smiled at her, nodded, and ran out of the building.

 

The streets were crowded, but that didn’t stop him from dashing to Grantaire’s building, up the stairs, and into his office. He ran right past Eponine, who paused in the middle of a sentence to give him a weird look.

 

He opened the door to Grantaire’s office, and Grantaire jumped in his seat. He looked up at Enjolras and his eyes were so sad. Enjolras ignored that and stormed over to his desk, thrusting the column in his face.

 

“How could you write this? Without asking my permission to write about me? You could’ve asked, I wouldn’t have had a problem with it! I think I’d actually be pretty happy, mind you. But no, you just have to go and write out your damn feelings in a fricking column and not even ask for my permission to reference me! I mean, you write about this person who gets really annoyed when they see you, and that’s me, like, all the time, and they’re possibly the most beautiful human being you’ve ever seen, and you wrote ‘they’ throughout the column, except for when you wrote ‘he’ instead and I knew it was about me, I just knew it. Why couldn’t you just tell me, R?”

 

Grantaire blinked, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

Enjolras rolled his eyes and leaned across the desk, fisting his hand in Grantaire’s shirt, and pulled him in for a kiss. Their lips met, and the kiss was rough and messy and passionate, full of bottled up emotions from the past few weeks. Enjolras broke them apart, but kept his hand fisted in Grantaire’s shirt, so that they were still intimately close.

 

“You should know now,” He said, voice low and hoarse.

 

Grantaire smiled, “I do. How did you know I was talking about you?”

 

“You have a way with words.”

 

“I guess I do.”

 

“And Enjolras?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you want to meet up at the Café Musain again?”

 

Enjolras smiled, “I’d love to.”

 

~

 

_Dear Enjolras,_

_My boyfriend just proposed to me, but I’m not so sure he’s the one. What should I do?_

_Sincerely,_

_Doubtful_

_Dear Doubtful,_

_Engagements are a wonderful thing. They’re another milestone in your life, whether or not they go through. They also mean that someone in your life loves and appreciates you enough to want to spend the rest of their life with you, which is always a good thing. I recently got engaged, and let me tell you, it’s terrifying. It feels like everything stops, and you start to question whether or not you’ve made the right decision. Is he the one? Most likely, he thinks you are, which is why he proposed in the first place. Before you make a decision, consider several things (for example, how long you’ve been together, your feelings towards him, whether you like or love him, etc.), and that’ll make it much easier. Tell him you need time, I’m sure he’ll understand. As for the rest, leave it up fate. I hope this helps you, and good luck with the engagement._

_Sincerely,_

_Enjolras_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about love, by the way. Like nothing.


End file.
